Fool's Fate Part 35

It was a larger charge of powder, intended to kill. The explosion from it burst the icy roof of the tunnel up into the air at the same time that it blew loose chunks of ice out of the tunnel's mouth and into the pit where we all worked. Men and ice were flung in the slamming concussion of that blast. I myself was thrown across the excavation. In the wake of that blast, ice sharper than arrows rained down and pierced some of us. I felt the falling chunks, but all was white before me. I thought I had been blinded as well as deafened. Then the fine ice mist began to settle, revealing a soundless chaos. I saw Web stumbling past me, his hands clasped over his ears. I saw Eagle crumpled in a broken heap under immense chunks of ice. I saw men screaming but did not hear them. I wondered if I would ever hear anything ever again.

I lifted my eyes and saw Chade and Dutiful looking down in horror. They had not been in the pit, and an instant later I realized that the men dragging out the sleds would also have escaped the worst effects of the blast. But just as I found my feet and decided that none of my bones were broken, a second trembling shook me. The ground beneath me shifted, pieces of ice heaving beneath my feet, and new cracks gaped wide and then suddenly gave way. Black flesh heaved to the top through broken fragments of ice.

Free!

It was the most coherent thought I had received from Icefyre, and it was more a sensation of triumph than a word.

His immense black head lifted on a serpentine neck. His wings, half-opened, served him as additional limbs as he levered his way up out of the clinging ice. The sight of his long-trapped body woke pity in me, even in the midst of my horror at what had befallen my fellows. His flesh barely coated his bones, and his scaled skin was tattered and sagging like badly sewn garments. When he opened his wings, there were rents and gaps in them, a fine cloak snagged by brambles.

He wallowed up from the ice, pausing several times to roar and struggle to free a leg and then a wingtip. He was heedless of the men who lay dazed about him, but that did not rea.s.sure me, for his sudden great hunger radiated like heat from him. For the first time, I knew on an instinctive level that I was prey to this far larger predator. My words to him would have no more effect on his thoughts than the wild frenzy of a rabbit had on a wolf's thoughts. Nighteyes and I had never tried to speak to our meals while they were alive; neither would this creature. "Fool, what have you turned loose on this world?" I groaned.

The dragon gave another lurching heave and emerged more fully from the tumbled ice. His size only became more impressive as he did so. As Icefyre gained footholds on the shifting wreckage of his tomb, he drew his tail up and out of the ice. It just kept coming, impossibly long, until it lay around him on the broken surface like a whip's curled lash. He threw back his head suddenly and let out a wild cry that began as a deep roar and then climbed until it was beyond reach of my hearing. It was my first perception of sound since the blast, and it seemed a new sense to me as the creature's trumpeting shook the lungs inside my body.

Then I saw his nostrils flare, and his wedged head dipped down toward Eagle's body. Even though the man was dead, what was about to befall him appalled me. Icefyre nosed the body, dislodging it from the ice boulders that had crushed it. He lipped it carefully, and then lifted Eagle up and shook the remaining ice fragments from him, like Nighteyes worrying dead leaves from a fish. The dragon ate like a gull, tossing the meat that had been a man up into the air and opening his maw wide so that the falling body was halfway down his gullet before he gulped. Then Eagle was no more than a lump sliding down that long throat.

The wolf in me was nonjudgmental: a dead man might as well be meat as anything else, and the dragon had done no more than eat carrion. I myself had done it in times of great hunger, and had been glad to steal a share of a bear's kill while the owner slept off his gluttony. But Eagle had been a man and a leader of men, someone who had eaten beside me and met my eyes over a fireside. It upset my order in the world that he could suddenly be no more than food for this creature we had wakened.

In that instant, I dimly grasped the immense scale on which our actions had reordered the world. This was no dragon of stone, imbued with the souls of heroes, awakened to save us. This was a huge creature of flesh, with appet.i.tes and drives and the will to sate them for the sake of his own survival, with no regard for what it might cost us humans.

I lifted dazed eyes to look for escape. I was not immediately in front of Icefyre, but I was among his closest available prey. I was shocked to see the bleeding men who had staggered forward to line the edges of the pit and stare down in amazement at what we had freed. Burrich was there, his hand clamped on Swift's shoulder, and c.o.c.kle with his greedy minstrel's eyes and Civil. His cat by his knee was twice his normal size, every hair on his body standing up. I looked in vain for Chade and Dutiful and feared they had perished. I saw one booted foot not far from me, and hoped a body was still attached to it under the flung snow. Who was it? I saw Swift's arm lift, his finger pointing at me urgently as he spoke to Burrich, and then that great fool moved his mouth and I knew the words he shouted out, "Fitz! Fitz, get out of there, flee!"

And the dragon's head turned toward that shout. I saw his whirling eyes of silver and black focus on the man who had raised me, I saw his head lift at the end of that long neck, and "No!" I roared out, my own words little more than a whisper to my ears.

He seemed to know he had drawn the dragon's attention to himself, for Burrich turned and gave Swift a savage shove that sent him flying to sprawl facedown in the snow. He turned, weaponless, to face the dragon.

And then a second shock threw me from my feet. Suddenly the earth seemed to be giving way under me. Icefyre was also abruptly struggling to keep his footing. He spread his tattered wings wide and clawed at the edges of the pit. Men fled before him as he scrabbled at the edge of it and then hauled himself up out of it. As he did so, the ice beneath him fell away into a gaping hole. Even as I clung to the edges of the pit, some part of my mind recognized what had happened. His struggles to free himself and perhaps Chade's exploding powder had weakened the ceiling of the Pale Woman's grand throne room. It was caving in on her.

I savagely hoped she would be crushed under the fall. I looked down at the collapsing ice chunks, draining in ponderous boulders into the palace below. I wondered if some opening to the chamber below would suddenly be revealed, wondered if I could enter that way and survive such a fall amid the cascading ice and somehow free the Fool while he still lived. More likely was that the collapse of the ice ceiling into the chamber below would fill and obliterate it. A quick end for him, some part of me suggested, but I roared out, "No! No, no, no! Beloved Fool! No!"

As if in answer to my cry, something shifted in the ice below me. I stared at it, unable to comprehend the strength of whatever bucked and heaved beneath that avalanche. The movement subsided.

I clung to the icy ledge, and cried out in shock as Dutiful's hand suddenly gripped my wrist. "Come up!" he bellowed at me, and I suddenly knew he had been calling to me before this, trying to get my attention away from the fall of ice and the struggling dragon. Icefyre was almost free of the pit. The others seemed to have fled, save for two limp bodies that I could not identify.

I gave Dutiful my weight and he grunted as he took it, bracing to allow me to scrabble up the edge of the pit and out. "Where is Chade? We must flee!" I bellowed at him. He made a wide gesture that seemed to indicate that the others had fled downhill, toward the camp. Then he opened his mouth wide and then wider as his eyes popped from their sockets in terror. I twisted to look back over my shoulder, for he was staring down into the pit. In the bottom of the collapsed pit of ice, churning his way to the top like a toad emerging from an icy hibernation, was the Pale Woman's dragon. Life had imparted no grace to him. He was still a creature crudely carved and fashioned of many discordant lives, a murky gray color like unfired clay. My Wit sensed his roaring hunger. He was hollow with appet.i.te and I knew he would devour anything within his reach. Then the blast of his Skill-thrust hit me, and I quailed before it. It was not just the hunger of a ravenous beast. One personality had come to dominate the dragon that wallowed and roared beneath us. I knew that she must have flung him to her stone dragon in a last wild effort to wake it. And the Pale Woman had succeeded.

Rawbread comes! I come to conquer and kill and devour. I hunger for farmers' flesh. Revenge shall be mine today! His gaze snagged on Icefyre. His gaze snagged on Icefyre. Six Duchies dragon, today you die! Six Duchies dragon, today you die! The stone dragon lunged, his great jaws closing on the base of Icefyre's tail. He braced his stubby legs and began to drag the black dragon back into the pit with him. The stone dragon lunged, his great jaws closing on the base of Icefyre's tail. He braced his stubby legs and began to drag the black dragon back into the pit with him.

chapter 25.

DRAGONS.

During the Red Ship War, many of the mothershouses paid unwilling tribute to Kebal Rawbread and the Pale Woman, in the form of a sacrifice of the males of their clans. Those who refused Rawbread's forced muster of their warriors were punished by what is called here in the Six Duchies "Forging." The Forging was mainly carried out against the women and female children of the clans. This left the males in an untenable position. The Forged females were a shame and a disgrace to the clan, yet no mothershouse could allow a male of the house to slay a female without exacting the same fate against him. It was better for the men to embark as warriors for Rawbread than to risk the complete destruction of their clan. The men who did eventually return to their mothershouses were changed creatures. Many of them apparently died in their sleep after the war. Some say their own mothershouse women poisoned them, for they no longer had the spirits of righteous sons.- c.o.c.kLE c.o.c.kLE'S " "BRIEF HISTORY OF THE OUT ISLANDS' RED SHIPS RED SHIPS"

A blue and silver lightning bolt fell from the cloudless sky. She plunged directly into the pit, all lashing tail and darting head, her wide-held jaws revealing rows of daggerlike teeth. She landed on the dragon that had been Kebal Rawbread like a furious cat and her jaws closed on his neck just behind his blocky head. Her claws screeched and clattered over his scales as she sought to make good her grip on him and stay on top of his back. His shock at the attack broke his concentration on Icefyre. He opened his jaws to roar, and Icefyre jerked away from him.

Get clear of him. Clamber away, take flight. Do not seek to battle this one on the ground!

Sounds came from Tintaglia. It was not language, but meaning rode with the sounds and I perceived it as speech. I do not think that all humans there grasped that she spoke. Certainly Icefyre knew that she spoke to him, and he bugled back to her, but I did not grasp his meaning fully. Perhaps my earlier exposures to Tintaglia had increased my comprehension of her. Whatever the reason, I saw the ragged dragon clamber to the edge of the pit, away from the lashing tangle of true dragon and stone dragon below him. I knew Tintaglia could not hold Rawbread long. She was a female, and I suspected it was a disparity of gender that made her so much smaller than Icefyre.

The stone dragon was ma.s.sive and blocky, thick where Tintaglia was slender and flexible, heavy where she was light. In comparison to Rawbread, she was an attacking falcon pitted against a bull. She was quickness itself, yet she could not seem to damage him. Her teeth had sunk into his neck, but I saw no flow of blood. The scoring of her powerful clawed hindquarters down his flanks left only white scratches, as if a boy had sc.r.a.ped one stone down another. He did not appear to take hurt from them. He shook himself heavily, trying to dislodge her, but she gripped him fast, futilely battling him with weapons that did him no harm. Her claws were a woman's fingernails pitted against a warrior's leather armor. I wondered, did he have blood to shed? Or was he all stone animated by will?

And what could kill such a stone dragon? If his hide was impervious to a powerful creature like Tintaglia, what could stop him?

Wave after wave of Skilled hate emanated from Rawbread. I sensed his confusion and frustration as he tried to adapt to his unwieldy but powerful body. Quickened he might be, yet he was still somehow incomplete. His legs churned beneath him in the broken ice without propelling him from the pit. He unfolded one wing awkwardly but could not seem to flap it or even to tuck it back to his body. It remained outflung and useless. He whipped his heavy head ponderously from side to side in a futile effort to loosen the determined female.

Tintaglia's silver eyes rolled to watch Icefyre's progress. It was pitiably slow. He heaved himself out of the pit. When he rocked back onto his hind legs, the ravages of his long encas.e.m.e.nt in the ice were made even plainer. I could see his keeled breastbone through the sag of his scaly hide. He reminded me of a bird's carca.s.s, all eaten away by ants. He lifted his ragged wings wide. When he shook them experimentally, a waft of stinking sickly animal washed past me. He limbered his long neck and lashed his tail several times, like a man settling himself into clothes he had long outgrown. He seemed to take his time to do all this, as if the struggle in the pit did not concern him at all. He nosed over his wings, almost like a bird preening. Then he extended his wings and rattled them like a beggar crow settling his feathers back into place. He flapped them once, slowly, and again, and then the third time he drove them down with a force that sent snow whisking away from him and wind whistling through the rents in them. Suddenly he leaned into his wings, his muscled hind legs driving him forward and up. He lifted from the ice heavily like an awkward seabird, but once his claws left the ground, it was as if he were released from its bonds. He rose steadily.

I caught a glimpse of Risk, circling high above us, and wondered how she must feel to see such an immense being rising toward her. Tintaglia, apparently deciding that Icefyre was now safely away from the awkward stone dragon, abruptly released her grip on Rawbread. She leaped, light as a lizard, into the air. Her silvery blue wings spread gracefully wide and in two beats of them she began to climb toward the sky.

Belatedly, Rawbread seemed to realize the attack on him had ceased. He threw back his head, roaring his hatred at us, then craned his neck to turn a mud-colored eye toward the sky. His neck was shorter and thicker than that of the true dragons. A rolling, viscous rumble came from his throat.

The Pale Woman's Skilling to him carried the force of fury. I was not the target of her thought and I felt but the brush of its pa.s.sage yet had no problem discerning the message. Her power of Skill seemed less than it had been, as if the freeing of the dragon had exhausted her. She forced her thoughts through a quagmire of pain.

Kill the dragons, one of them, or both of them, but kill at least one! Never mind the humans. They cannot harm you. Later, you can devour them at your will. But for now, take your revenge on the Six Duchies. Kill their dragons, Rawbread!

And in that instant, he turned his heavy head and snapped at Tintaglia's tail, closing his rocky jaws on its lashing tip. It jerked her from the grace of flight into a wild fall. She cried out and I saw Icefyre tip his wings and felt his gaze sweep over the struggle on the ground. He tilted and then dived sharply. The stone dragon had finally mastered how to spread his wings and he sought at first to brake Tintaglia's flight, but in that awkward effort, some vague idea of how to use them seemed to come to him. Never relinquishing his hold on Tintaglia's tail, he beat his wings savagely, making abortive lunges into the air. The struggling queen dragon was jerked about like a kite on a string. She screamed, shrill as a sword being drawn, and suddenly coiled back to attack her attacker. It was a mistake. For all her size, she was a b.u.t.terfly battering herself against a lizard. The wind of her wildly fluttering wings sprayed icy snow into my face and drove me down, but did not impress Rawbread at all. He buffeted her with his heavy wings, slamming blows that sounded heavy slaps like a slaughterhouse hammer against her flesh.

He would kill her.

An instant later, the consequence of that thought came to me. The Pale Woman would still have won. Despite all, she would have put an end to dragons in the world. And no man could stop it from happening now. If Tintaglia's claws had not even scored the stone dragon's flesh, what could any weapon of ours do against him?

A lifetime had pa.s.sed in a heartbeat. I became aware of the Prince standing frozen beside me and cursed my foolishness. I shook him and bellowed, "Get out of here! There's nothing we can do. Run!"

And still he stood and gaped, transfixed by the battle before us.

Then Icefyre struck, a bolt of black lightning. The force of that immense body striking the stone dragon shook the earth like one of Chade's explosions. Dutiful and I were flung to the earth. When I managed to get to my knees and clear my eyes, Tintaglia was clear of the battle. She crawled away from it, wings and feet dragging her across the snowy ground. Where her thick blood fell on the snow, it smoked. My Wit sensed the waves of pain that flowed from her. I do not think she had ever felt such agony; the outrage and horror of it stunned her.

Impossibly, the two battling males rose, clawing and flapping, from the pit of tumbled ice. The battering force of their wingbeats drove the Prince and me to our knees over and over again as we stumbled and fought to get clear of their combat. I dragged Dutiful back, shouting, "If a stone dragon overshadows you for long, he can Forge you! We must flee!" Then the force of the wind from their wings lessened. Dutiful stumbled as I thrust him away from me, but I halted and looked back. And up.

Locked in battle, yet still they rose, wings beating almost in unison. It appeared a strange and twisting dance they performed, claws seeking grips and their heads repeatedly striking like darting snakes. But it was the strength of Icefyre's battered wings that bore them up more than the stone dragon's efforts. Clenched together, they rose screaming, until they were black silhouettes in the blue sky.

"Fitz! Look!" Dutiful's shout was a whisper to my buffeted, ringing ears, but I could not ignore the way he shook me. The idiot had come back. He was pointing down into the pit full of collapsed ice. There was a small opening at one end of it where the sliding ice had not quite filled the palatial chamber beneath it. A small gap remained open. Coming up that tumbled and shifting slope of ice was Elliania. She gripped a shrieking, struggling girl by the chains about her wrist and dragged her behind her as she determinedly plowed her way up toward us. The girl's hair was matted to her head with filth and a ragged shift barely covered her, but for all that, the family resemblance was strong. Elliania had captured her sister. Peottre was behind her, half-crawling as he emerged from the hole. A drawn and b.l.o.o.d.y sword was in his hand, and he towed a limp and emaciated woman behind him. Blood from a scalp wound sheeted one side of his face. As soon as he could stand, he seized the woman and tried to race up the slope, but the treacherous chunks of ice shifted and slid under his feet. He gained a span or two and then went down on one knee. He was breathing in gasps as if he were nearly at the end of his strength. As we watched, he suddenly dropped his sister to the ground and turned to face his pursuers as they emerged on their hands and knees from the hole. Oerttre Blackwater fell limply, unconscious or dead, and began to slide back down toward the gap.

Elliania had reached us. She glanced back and shrieked as she saw Peottre brought to bay. "Hold this!" she commanded Dutiful, and flung the chain at him. He caught it by reflex, gaping at his disheveled intended. Blood had run from one of her nostrils, outlining that side of her mouth in a caked line, and her wild hair hung loose around her face. Then she spun from him, short-sword in her hand, and charged back toward Peottre. Dutiful was left gripping the Forged girl's chain.

"Hold this!" Dutiful suddenly echoed her and flung the chain at me. It fell to the earth before I could catch it, but I stepped forward to trap it under my foot before she could flee. But she didn't wish to flee. Instead, she flung herself at me, mouth gaping wide. To my Wit, she wasn't there, but as I caught her and tried to fend off her attack, my flesh felt the impact of her blows. I have fought many men, but never had I reckoned on dealing with an emaciated ten-year-old girl with absolutely no fears or concerns for her own survival. Teeth and nails and knees, she sought determinedly to rip or pound my flesh from my bones, and made some fair headway at doing so, clawing my face and sinking her teeth into my wrist before I managed to fling her down in the snow. I covered her with my body, pressing her to the ice until I could roll her onto her belly. I reached under her and seized her elbows and then jerked her back against me, so that her arms were crossed on her own chest. She continued to kick at me, but she was barefoot and the heavy leather of my trousers muted those blows. She ducked her head then and seized my sleeve in her teeth, worrying it as if it were prey, but good wool was all she gripped, so I let her chew at it. When her biting did not bring her release, she flung her head back, thudding it against my chest. It was not pleasant, but as long as I kept my chin up, I could withstand it.

Having so bravely immobilized my scrawny opponent, I craned to see what was happening below me. In the pit of sliding snow, Elliania had reached her mother. She crouched over Oerttre, blade ready, her last line of defense as Peottre fought two of the Pale Woman's dead-eyed guards. I did not know if Elliania was poised to hold off attackers or deal her mother's death blow before she could be taken again. For a heart-stopping moment, I could not see Dutiful. Then I caught a glimpse of him past Peottre. He stood squarely in the mouth of the hole from which the Narcheska and Peottre had emerged. His knife was red and whoever was down there was not getting past him.

We are attacked! Chade's Skilled warning reached me at the same moment that shouts turned my head. I looked down toward our camp. From somewhere, the Pale Woman's minions had appeared, to fall upon our reduced and rattled party. It looked as if they were trying to prevent anyone from going to Tintaglia's aid, though none of them were yet brave enough to attack the fallen dragon. I had a glimpse of my old mentor as I had never before seen him. Feet braced, blade in hand, Chade stood beside Longwick. Thick crouched behind them, wailing, his arms wrapped protectively over his head. Chade's Skilled warning reached me at the same moment that shouts turned my head. I looked down toward our camp. From somewhere, the Pale Woman's minions had appeared, to fall upon our reduced and rattled party. It looked as if they were trying to prevent anyone from going to Tintaglia's aid, though none of them were yet brave enough to attack the fallen dragon. I had a glimpse of my old mentor as I had never before seen him. Feet braced, blade in hand, Chade stood beside Longwick. Thick crouched behind them, wailing, his arms wrapped protectively over his head.

Thick! Push at them, like you push at me! Not all of them will give way, but some will. Fight back! Tell them, Go away, and don't see us! Please, Thick! Despair washed over me as I gripped the still-struggling girl to me. I dared not let her go, but while I held her, I was useless to do anything else. Despair washed over me as I gripped the still-struggling girl to me. I dared not let her go, but while I held her, I was useless to do anything else.

Thick had not reacted to my suggestion, I thought. And then, I saw the little man lift one of his arms and peer out like a fearful child. Then I felt a faint wash of the Skill he directed at their attackers.

Go away, go away, go away, go away!

I saw at least two of the Pale Woman's warriors do just that, abruptly turning their backs on the battle and striding away as if they had suddenly remembered urgent business elsewhere. Several others seemed to lose the momentum of their attacks, reduced to defending themselves as they suddenly wondered why they were there and attacking us.

Do it again, Thick! Help me! I could feel Chade's failing wind in that Skilling. His sword weighed as much as the earth, and he had never liked seeing a man's eyes when he killed him. Then I felt a red wash of pain as a blade slipped up the top of his forearm. I saw Thick spring back, gripping his own arm. I could feel Chade's failing wind in that Skilling. His sword weighed as much as the earth, and he had never liked seeing a man's eyes when he killed him. Then I felt a red wash of pain as a blade slipped up the top of his forearm. I saw Thick spring back, gripping his own arm.

Chade! Block your pain! Thick is feeling it. Thick! Tell the pain to go away. Give it to the bad men. You can do it!

Then a buffet of wind from above me made me crouch like a field mouse that feels the wash of an owl's wings above him. The dragons were back, fighting in terrible silence save for the battering rush of their wings and the dull impacts they dealt to one another. They had soared high, locked in their frenzy. Cowering, I stared up at them and thought I knew Rawbread's strategy. He clung to Icefyre, his jaws clenched on the back of the other dragon's neck. Icefyre was expending most of his energy in an effort to stay aloft. Well he knew he could not hope to defeat the stone dragon on the ground. The frailer dragon twisted and writhed, trying to escape the stone dragon's deadly grip.

They could come down on top of us!

"Get out of there!" I roared down at Dutiful. "The dragons are falling!"

Dutiful looked up, startled, and then leaped back to avoid his opponent's blade. The Prince shouted something toward Peottre and the Narcheska. Peottre had finished one of his men and the other was retreating from him. The Narcheska seized her mother's ankle and began to drag her out of the pit, all the while keeping her blade at the ready. I reached a hand to her as she got closer to me, then seized her by her sword wrist and hauled her up and over the edge of the pit. She dragged her mother gracelessly behind her. An instant later, I had to make good my grip on her little sister again as she spat and struggled. Elliania dragged her mother away from the edge and then screamed, "Get out of there! They're falling!"

She was right. The dragons were a struggling knot that was plummeting larger and larger toward us. Dutiful and Peottre both fled their battles, the treacherous ice tumbling and sliding under their feet as they struggled to move uphill and out of the collapsed pit. Elliania, dragging her mother by her ankles, was beating her own retreat, desperately shrieking at Dutiful and Peottre to hurry, hurry. I stooped, seized the little girl, and followed her. I knew there was nothing else I could do and yet I felt a coward as I ran. Then, his boots pounding the ice, Dutiful pa.s.sed me. He reached the Narcheska, and stooping, scooped up her mother and threw her across his shoulders. A moment later, Peottre's hand fell heavily on my shoulder, pushing me faster as we fled together. The shadows of the falling dragons spread wider around us. I felt stupefied and dizzy for a moment, and then staggered on. We caught up to Dutiful and the women. Elliania pointed upward wordlessly.

Icefyre had shaken free of Rawbread. His frantically beating wings bore him higher and higher as Rawbread plummeted gracelessly back toward the earth, his outspread wings able to do little more than break the force of his heavy body's descent.

The crash of his impact shook the icy earth. He had landed half in the pit and half on the edge where I had been standing but moments before. I hoped he was dead, but he slowly rolled to his feet and shook out his wings. His blunt head quested on his thick neck, turning this way and that. Then like a squat lizard digging his way out of mud, his powerful limbs moved and he crawled out of the pit on his belly, his tail lashing angrily as it churned the snow behind him. He seemed to stare right at me and my entrails turned to ice in that glare. Then, like a sharply reined horse, he flung back his head and shook it in frustration. His eyes, lackl.u.s.ter in contrast to Tintaglia's whirling silver, looked past me and fixed on the downed female dragon. He diverted from us and lumbered toward her, snorting angrily. I became aware of the Pale Woman's Skilled exhortations to him to kill the female and all would be well, that he then could sate his anger and hunger as he pleased. But first, kill the female. Nothing stood between him and triumph now. She could not fight him.

But the Pale Woman was wrong. My heart fell as I perceived that Tintaglia still had two defenders. Blind Burrich stood next to the dragon, his folded cloak pressed hard to her neck as he sought to quell her bleeding. The smoking of the fabric made me wonder of what stuff dragon blood was made. Burrich was intent on his task, and Tintaglia's head on her long neck was coiled back protectively toward her body. They both seemed unaware of the lumbering death that made his ponderous way down the hill toward them.

But Swift was not. He stood before her, an ant protecting a castle. The Fool's brightly painted arrow flew from his bow, to splinter uselessly against the stone dragon. Undaunted, he drew another from his quiver, nocked it and drew it back. From some reserve of courage that seemed too large for such a small boy to contain, he took two steps forward, toward the dragon. He let fly again, with as futile a result. Still, he stood his ground as he pulled out yet another arrow. To reach Tintaglia, Rawbread would have to trample him. I saw Swift call a warning back to his father over his shoulder. An arrow was set to Swift's bow. And all I could do was watch helplessly as the stone dragon's relentless gaze fixed on the boy. Abruptly, Rawbread broke into a clumsy gallop. Swift looked up at his death and his mouth stretched wide in a scream that was both terror and defiance. His bow shook in his hands, the head of the gray arrow wobbling wildly, but he stood his ground.

Burrich lifted his head. He turned. Even now, I recall every instant of that moment. I saw him draw breath and heard through the ringing of my ears the deep roar of his outrage that anything would threaten his son.

I had never seen him move so swiftly. He threw himself toward Swift and the dragon, his boots throwing up clumps of snow as he ran. Tintaglia lifted her head slightly, feeble witness to his charge. Then Burrich was between his boy and the dragon, drawing his belt knife as he ran. It was the most ridiculous and the most courageous attack I've ever witnessed. As he sprang to meet the suddenly bewildered dragon's charge, he drew back his knife. I saw the blade splinter as he drove it against the stony flesh. At the same moment, I felt the blast of Wit repel repel that he leveled at the creature. It was like one of Chade's explosions. It was the fierceness of a stallion defending his herd, the savagery of a wolf or bear that protects its cubs, compounded more from love of what he protected than hatred of what he battled. It was targeted at the dragon, and the prodigious force of that blast dropped the stone beast to his knees. that he leveled at the creature. It was like one of Chade's explosions. It was the fierceness of a stallion defending his herd, the savagery of a wolf or bear that protects its cubs, compounded more from love of what he protected than hatred of what he battled. It was targeted at the dragon, and the prodigious force of that blast dropped the stone beast to his knees.

But as Rawbread fell, a wild flap of his heavy wing swatted Burrich, flinging the man to one side as if he were nothing. His body spun as he flew. "No!" I cried, but it was done. He hit the frozen snow badly, bending like a flung rag doll, and then skidding away across the ice, spinning as he went. Rawbread lumbered back onto his clawed black feet. He shook his heavy head and I saw him gasp for breath. Then he advanced, openmouthed, on both Swift and Tintaglia.

Swift had turned his head to watch the shattering of his father's body. Now he turned back to the dragon, and the roar that stretched his mouth wide was hatred, pure and simple. With that strength, he drew his bowstring back and back, until I thought the bow itself would splinter. I saw him become his arrow as he locked eyes with the dragon lumbering toward him.

He let his shaft fly.

True as a father's love, the shining gray missile flew. It struck the dragon's eye and sank in, nearly vanishing. I saw Rawbread begin to lift a forefoot to paw at it. Then he halted abruptly, as if listening to someone. I was aware of the Skill the Pale Woman directed at him, as she hysterically commanded him to finish it, kill the bowman, kill the she-dragon, and then he could do whatever he wished, whatever he wished at all. I thought Rawbread paused to listen to her. But he did not move again. The drab color of life fled his skin, as a dull patina of stone settled over him. He remained as he was, wings half-lifted, forepaw about to claw the arrow from his eye, jaws agape. A silence of disbelief settled over the whole battle. The stone dragon was dead.

An instant later, the girl in my arms came back to life. My Wit-sense of her blossomed into full bloom. She had stopped struggling at the moment of the dragon's death. Now she suddenly curled into my arms. "I'm so cold. I'm so hungry," she wailed, and then, as I looked down in astonishment at her, she burst into childish tears.

"A moment, a moment," I told her, and hated that I had to set her little bare feet down on the snow. I tore Chade's cloak from my body and settled it around her. It came all the way down to her toes, and as I picked her up again, she pulled her feet up into it gratefully, huddling into a shivering ball in my arms. "Give her to me, give her to me!" Peottre demanded. Tears were streaming down his face, cutting through the blood.

"Oh, little fish, oh, my Kossi! Elliania, look, look, our Kossi has come back to us. She is herself!" The old warrior turned to his niece, and then as if joy had drained his strength from him, he fell to his knees, holding the child to his chest and murmuring over her.

Elliania looked over at us, her heart in her eyes, and then looked down at the woman who sprawled in the snow at her feet. She dropped to her knees by her mother and her tears came as she said, "We saved one of them. At least we saved one of them. Mother, I did my best. We tried so hard."

Dutiful looked over at her from where he knelt on the other side of the woman. Gentle as a nurse, he pushed the filthy hair back from her emaciated face. "No. You saved both of them. She's unconscious, Elliania, but she's back, too. I can feel her with my Wit-sense. Your mother has come back to you, too."

"But . . . how can you know this?" She stared down at the woman's face, not daring yet to hope.

Dutiful smiled at her. "I promise you, I know this is so. It's an old Fa.r.s.eer magic, a gift of my father's lineage." He stooped again to take up the lax woman. "Let's get her to warmth and shelter. And food. The battle seems to be over, for now."

They all just stopped fighting when the dragon died, Chade confirmed for me as I stood and peered out over the battlefield below us. Chade confirmed for me as I stood and peered out over the battlefield below us. It was as if they all just suddenly lost heart. It was as if they all just suddenly lost heart.

No. They regained it. It's hard to explain, Chade, but I feel it with the Wit. Her servants were partially Forged, but with the dragon's death, all that was taken and put into him came back to them. The same thing happened to the Narcheska's mother and sister. They're no longer Forged. Have the Outislanders speak to those we fought. Offer them food and welcome. And comfort them. They may be very confused.

I allowed my eyes to wander over the battlefield below me, and saw the truth of my own thought. The Pale Woman's soldiers, to a man, had dropped their weapons. One man stood, his hands clapped over his ears, weeping. Another had seized one of his fellows by the shoulder and was laughing wildly as he spoke to him. A small group of men stood cl.u.s.tered around the stone dragon. Lifeless, it had settled unevenly into the glacier, an ugly statue set awry.

But strangest of all was that Tintaglia had come to her feet. She walked stiff-legged as a stalking cat toward the stone dragon. Cautiously, she extended her head on her gracile neck. She sniffed the monster, nosed it cautiously, and then without warning, struck it a ringing blow with her clawed forepaw. The stone dragon rocked stiffly in the snow but did not fall over. Nonetheless, Tintaglia lifted her head high on her long neck and trumpeted her triumph over her foe. Blood might still ooze from the bites and scratches he had dealt her, but she claimed victory as hers. And around her, men raised their voices to join their cries of triumph to hers. If ever there had been a stranger sight than this dragon celebrating amidst human cheering, then no minstrel has ever told it.

From high above, a trumpeting call echoed hers. Battered and tattered, Icefyre circled in a wide spiral above us. He banked his wings and slid down the sky, swooping over us in a lower circuit. On the ground, Tintaglia threw back her head and bugled again. Around her throat, panels of her scales suddenly stood up like a mane and a crest on her head, scarcely noticeable before, stood erect and silver like a crown. A wash of color went over her, from deepest blue to brightest silver. The men who had gathered around her drew back. When she leaped from the ground to the air it was effortless in the manner of a cat floating from the floor up to a tabletop. Her wings opened as she sprang, and with three beats of them she was climbing.

Icefyre immediately tipped his wings and stroked them frantically, but the female easily outdistanced him as they climbed. He trumpeted after her l.u.s.tily, but she did not bother to reply. Her wings carried her up and up, until to my straining eyes she might have been a silver gull winging overhead. Icefyre, almost twice her size, starved and tattered, battered his way through the sky in pursuit of her. I blinked as they pa.s.sed before the sun.

Then they were spiraling together. His deep cries were a challenge to all the world, but her higher calls were a defiance and mockery of him alone. He was above her for a moment, and then she tipped her wings and slid away from him. So I thought. Instead he clapped his wings to his body and fell upon her, his wide-open jaws so scarlet that even at that distance I perceived it before his teeth clamped onto her outstretched neck. Then his larger wings overshadowed hers, and suddenly their beating synchronized. He pulled her tight against him, his longer tail wrapping hers as he arched around her.

I knew what I witnessed. By that mating flight, there would be dragons in our skies again. I stared up at that wonder, at their casual flaunting of their return to life, and wondered what we had restored to the world.

"I do not understand!" the Narcheska exclaimed in horror. "She came all this way to save him and now he attacks her. Look at them fight!"

Dutiful cleared his throat. "I don't think they're fighting."

"Then . . . Yes they are! Look how he bites her! Why does he seize her like that, if not to hurt her?" Elliania shaded her eyes with one hand as she looked up in wonder at them. Her dark hair fell tangled down her shoulders and back and her uplifted chin bared the long straight column of her neck. Her tunic strained over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Dutiful made a small sound in his throat. He lifted his eyes from looking at her and his gaze went from me to Peottre. Her uncle had one arm around his sister's shoulders and held Kossi in his other. I think the Prince decided that our opinion of the matter no longer concerned him. He stepped closer to Elliania and took her in his arms. "I'll show you," he said to her astonishment. He clasped her firm and close, and lowered his mouth to hers.

Despite all that had befallen me that day, despite every loss I had sustained, I found myself smiling. That which surged between the dragons above must affect any man sensitive to the Skill. The Narcheska broke the kiss at last. Lowering her brow to his shoulder, she laughed softly. "Oh," she said. Then she lifted her face again to be kissed. I looked aside.

Oerttre did not. She was scandalized. Despite her rags and filth, her reaction was regal. "Peottre! You allow a farmer to kiss our narcheska?"

He laughed aloud. I was shocked to realize it was the first time I'd ever heard the man laugh. "No, my sister. But she does, and she allots to him what he has earned. There is much explaining to do yet. But I promise you, what happens there is not against her will." He smiled. "And what is a man that he should oppose the will of a woman?"

"It is not proper," Oerttre replied primly, and despite her stained dress and caked hair, her words were that of a narcheska of the Out Islands. It struck me how completely she had come back to herself.

Abruptly it came to me that if the Fool still lived, then with the dragon's death, whatever Forging had been done to him would have come undone as well. Wild hope leaped in me and the world lurched around me. "The Fool!" I exclaimed, and then when Peottre looked at me in disapproval, to see if I mocked the Prince, I clarified, "The tawny man. Lord Golden. He might yet live!"

I turned and ran over the crusted snow. I reached the edge of what had been our pit and tried to find a safe way down into it. The upheaval of the dragons had made it a treacherous place. The opening that Peottre and the Narcheska had emerged from was gone. Rawbread's final landing in the side of the pit and his struggles to get out of it had obscured that gap into the Pale Woman's palace. But I knew where it had been and surely, surely, it could not be buried that deeply. I set out down the unstable slope, trying to hurry and yet keep my footing as the broken ice crunched and then cascaded past me. I halted and forced myself to walk more carefully. I picked my way down the sliding slope, hating the delay. Every chunk of ice I dislodged now was yet another I must move. The opening had been at the deepest end of the pit. I was nearly to it when I heard someone call my name. I halted and looked over my shoulder. Peottre stood at the edge of the excavation, looking down on me. He shook his head, his eyes full of pity. He spoke bluntly.

"Give it up, Badgerlock. He's dead. Your comrade is dead. I'm sorry. We saw him when we were searching the cells for our people. I had promised myself that if he were still alive, we would try to steal him, too. But he wasn't. We were too late. I'm sorry."

I stood staring up at him. Suddenly I couldn't see him. The contrast between the brightness of the day and his dark silhouette seemed to blind me. Cold crept up me, followed by a wave of numbness. I thought I would faint. I sat down very slowly in the ice. I hated the stupid words that came from my mouth. "Are you sure?"

Peottre nodded, and then said reluctantly, "Very sure. They had-" He stopped speaking suddenly. When he resumed, he said flatly, "He was dead. He could not have lived through that. He was dead." He took a breath and then sighed it out slowly. "They are calling for you, down at the camp. The boy, Swift, he is with the dying man. They want you there."

The dying man. Burrich. He jolted back into my thoughts like one of Chade's explosions. Yes. I would lose him, too. It was too much, far too much. I put my face down in my hands and curled up, rocking back and forth in the snow. Too much. Too much.

"I think you should hurry." Blackwater's voice reached me from some distant place. Then I heard someone else say quietly, "You go tend to your own people. I'll see to mine."

I heard someone working his way down the slope of ice to me, but I didn't care. I just sat there, trying to die, trying to let go of a life where I failed everyone I cared about. Then a hand fell heavily on my shoulder and Web said, "Get up, FitzChivalry. Swift needs you."